


If We Happen (To Be Left Half-Alive)

by luninosity



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Amulet Fic, Fix-It, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-12
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 04:15:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/pseuds/luninosity
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for a request for amulet fix-it fic, way back in season five. Sam might've gone back to pick something up; Dean is a protective older brother, always.</p>
            </blockquote>





	If We Happen (To Be Left Half-Alive)

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers for season five; in my head this was slash or pre-slash, but it could totally be read as gen, too. Title courtesy of The Who's "Won't Get Fooled Again".

An hour outside of Lake Perris, California, Sam throws himself in front of a werewolf that's coming claws-out for Dean, and gets those claws through his own stomach as a result.  
   
He manages to shoot the damn thing as it lands on top of him, silver right through the heart, and the adrenaline mingled with blood and fur and fear keeps him from feeling the pain until it's over. Until he hears Dean yell "Sam!" and the fear in Dean's voice makes Sam think, _hey, wow, maybe I should be worried about all that blood, there_...  
   
Of course, it's not like he's going to be dead for more than an hour or so, anyway. Can't have the Apocalypse without Lucifer's vessel; it would be like Dean's birthday without pie.  
   
Dean's saying "Sam, stay with me, come on, look at me," and cursing, and Lucifer says, in Sam's head, "You know I wouldn't let you die, Sammy, you're mine," and for one crazy moment Sam hears them both at once, words falling over each other into different places, Lucifer demanding that Sam stay and Dean whispering _Sammy, you're mine_ , and something in Sam's gut twists that much more, just when he thought he couldn't hurt any worse.  
   
Sam can't really move too well, but he brings up a hand to touch Dean's, because he wants to know that his brother is there. Because Dean has been so _gone_ lately, and Sam needs him to be there. Dean has always been there for him; Sam without Dean is a mess, and an addicted fuck-up, and the reason Sam's Memorex Special Late-Night Films in Heaven didn't have Dean present was because they didn't have to: Dean was always the one Sam could come back to, could find waiting for him, after everything. It crosses Sam's mind to wonder if Dean knows this. He thinks maybe he should say something. He thinks maybe he should say a lot of things.  
   
Dean's stitching Sam up, and his hands aren't shaking, but only because they've done this so many times that the movements happen on their own, needle into flesh, Sam's blood on Dean's hands. Dean says, "Sam, I'm sorry, I'm sorry" like he thinks it's all his fault. Sam, deciding he can probably talk now (courtesy of his demonic patron, he's feeling quite a bit better; at least there's something good coming out of this whole mess), manages a "Not your fault," to make sure Dean knows that.  
   
Dean, satisfied that Sam is alive, takes this as a cue to be angry. "What the hell were you thinking! You think being a werewolf chew toy is fun and games? Are you trying to get yourself killed again? Jesus, Sam!" Sam inadvertently laughs at the last comment, which turns into a wince of pain because his claw marks still hurt like hell.  
   
"Do you have a death wish, or something?" Dean demands, and then stops. That one's a little close to home, though for which of them, Sam couldn't say. Both, maybe. He's thought about it. He's pretty sure Dean, who has spent every waking moment for months being emotionally eviscerated by angels, has thought about it too.  
   
"So, um, guess you're gonna be okay," Dean says finally, retreating. Hiding away his emotions, back behind that brittle shell of toughness and bravado.  
   
And suddenly Sam is tired of all that. Tired of watching Dean disappear into depression again, tired of wondering if the world would be better off if they died or said yes or something equally stupid. Sam is tired of not having faith. He thinks it's about time they found something new to have faith in.  
   
So he coughs, a little more dramatically than he should, trying to sound weak and pitiful. This gets Dean to look at him with just a hint of real concern.  
   
"Dean," Sam says, trying his best to sound like he's possibly still dying. "Something...in my pocket...I think you should have. If, you know, I don't come back this time..."  
   
Dean's look is made up of equal parts worry and suspicion, so Sam puts on his best pathetic eyes and waits. The worry wins out, and Sam mentally congratulates himself.  
   
"Which pocket?"  
   
"That one."  
   
Dean pulls it out, holds it up. The amulet glints in the moonlight, mocking, inviting, or something in between. Dean doesn't say anything for a minute.  
   
"Sam?"  
   
"Yeah?"  
   
"You sure...you want me to have this?" Dean's voice is hesitant, rough-edged, fraying like the amulet's cord. Sam's not sure if he's hesitating because he wants it, or doesn't want it, or is missing the point altogether.  
   
"Well. If you want it," Sam says, stops, swallows. "Yes."  
   
"Huh," Dean says, and looks back at Sam. "It's still useless."  
   
"Yep," Sam agrees.  
   
"Probably not worth much."  
   
"Nope."  
   
"But, hey, if you want to keep useless junk around...I guess I could, um, hang on to it for you. Probably safer if it's not in your pocket. If you're gonna get eaten by werewolves and all."  
   
"Probably," Sam says, a sudden absurd joy bubbling up inside him. It's sweet and fierce and he can see the matching emotion, just a hint of it, lurking in Dean's face now, at the corners of his eyes and mouth, pulling at them both. There are rocks digging into his back, and the wind is picking up, and he wants to explode in laughter, to jump up and throw his arms around Dean and not let go.  
   
"Also," Sam adds, still dancing on that crazy upsurge of giddiness, "it's not useless junk."  
   
"That so?"  
   
"Nope," Sam says firmly. "It's invested with a great and terrible power."  
   
"Great and terrible power, huh? Hope it's better than your acting skills."  
   
"Hey!" Sam protests. "You were totally worried about me. You _love_ me." Dean looks appropriately horrified, and Sam knows he's right when Dean eyes the amulet warily, and mutters, "If that's the great and terrible power you're talkin' about, maybe we should get rid of this thing after all."  
   
Sam glares at him, and decides to try to sit up, which makes his recently shredded insides protest. Dean's arm goes around him in two seconds flat, and then doesn't let go. Sam leans into him, bloodsoaked and happy.  
   
"Might've known you'd be a cuddler," Dean grumbles.  
   
"You like it," Sam says cheerfully. "Jerk."  
   
"Bitch," Dean says, and, one-handed, drops the amulet over his head, where it comes to rest on his chest, and Sam decides that, despite Horsemen and demons and angels running around and everyone on the planet trying to kill them, all is right with the world.


End file.
